


Dworin Week 2016 - Fic Collection

by Saetha



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Cuddles, Depression, Durin family fluff, Dwalin whump, Dworin Week, Dworin Week 2016, Fluff, Gen, HE, Hurt/Comfort, I'll keep adding the tags and characters as the week goes on yo, M/M, PTSD, Porn, Thorin whump, Wargs, but for now let's start with, cuteness, fucking in erebor, fucking on a pile of gold, not so evil orcs, wargriders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-07-24 17:05:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7516285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saetha/pseuds/Saetha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seven fics for the seven different prompts and days of Dworin Week 2016!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> LET'S GET THIS ONE STARTED HU something fluffy for the beginning =D

If Thorin were asked, he'd say that there were quite a few things that Dwalin was rather good, even excellent at. Fighting, laughing, fiddling...Thorin could think of quite the number of tasks that his partner could do well. However, there was at least one thing which did very definitely _not_ fall into that category: keeping secrets.

Whenever Dwalin tried to keep something secret, Thorin would usually find out about within the matter of a single day, sometimes two when Dwalin made big efforts at hiding it. His partner didn't seem to notice that his entire demeanour changed as soon as he was hiding things from Thorin - probably in what Dwalin thought were subtle ways, but for Thorin the signs were as bright as a beacon. He knew Dwalin far too well by now.

Therefore, when Dwalin once again began fidgeting a little every time Thorin was around, his eyes wandering to the chest in the corner of their bedroom one too many times, Thorin knew that something was going on. It took all his self-control not to make fun of Dwalin for it - or try and coax the secret from him. Instead he contented himself with watching Dwalin's attempts to hide whatever it was with thinly veiled amusement. It didn't take long for Dwalin to notice that, either.

"Why are you laughing?" Dwalin asked him as he was rustling around in their room, Thorin watching him from his place on their bed with a thinly veiled smile. It was late in the evening and the others had gone to bed already - they were both close as well.

"I'm not," Thorin grinned. Dwalin just shot him a glare in reply. "And if I told you you'd be sulking again."

"I don't sulk," Dwalin replied indignantly. "I merely take rightful offense."

That one drew a loud laugh and a snort from Thorin.

"You would sulk," he repeated again, firmly. Dwalin glowered at him. "Unless you show me what you've been hiding for two days now."

"You knew?" Dwalin looked slightly aghast at the revelation - and just a little stricken as well, enough to make Thorin feel sorry for him.

"You aren't great at keeping secrets," Thorin pointed out and rolled over so that he was now lying on his stomach and could watch Dwalin more intently. "So what are you hiding from me?"

Dwalin grumbled something and then began rummaging again in his big clothing chest.

"I'd planned on giving it to you for your Nameday next week," he admitted, somewhat chagrined. "but seeing that apparently you can't wait that long..."

"My Nameday?" Thorin was amused. "It's been ages since we've celebrated it in any big manner." Nameday celebrations had once been a thing in Erebor, but now most dwarrows opted to only celebrate their birthdays instead. For too long even a single celebration per year had been taxing on their resources, not to mention the amount of pressure two would have been.

"Well, then it's a good time to start again now, isn't it?" Dwalin told him. He finally seemed to be finished with searching what he was looking for and triumphantly held up a leather pouch that he had seemingly dug from the bottom of his clothing chest.

"It's nothing big." Dwalin shrugged slightly, but the manner with which he handled the pouch suggested differently - whatever was in there, Dwalin was rather proud of it. Thorin grinned and held out his hand. After a moment Dwalin dropped the pouch into it, slightly anxiety in his movement as if he suddenly remembered the possibility that Thorin might _not_ like what he had made him. Which, in Thorin's opinion, was a rather unlikely outcome of the situation.

He untied the two leather straps that held the pouch together and very carefully took out the three items inside. They were jewellery - one clasp and two beads, shimmering white and intricately decorated with runes and patterns and a few blue gemstones sparingly set in them, highlighting the beautiful engraving around.

Thorin felt a smile stretch over his face until his cheeks were hurting and he was sure he couldn't smile any more widely.

"They are beautiful," he whispered, his fingers touching the beads and clasp and following the lines on them over and over. "Are they made from warg bone again?"

"Yeah." Dwalin nodded and sat down next to him. Thorin's smile was mirrored on his own face, the relief in it that Thorin liked his gift apparent. "I thought they'd match the comb I gave you."

Thorin let out a quiet laugh. The bone comb was still one of his favourite presents that Dwalin had ever given him - it had been one of his first courting gifts and Thorin rarely ever used it on his hair for fear of breaking it somehow. Yet he knew it by heart and could see that many of the engravings did indeed match the ones on the comb.

"Wait," he told his partner, rolling over on the bed until he could reach the little nightstand next to it. The comb was in the middle drawer and Thorin took it out carefully, holding it up next to the beads and clasps.

"Thank you. A beautiful set," he smiled.

"Worthy of a king I hope," Dwalin grinned back.

"More than that." Thorin reach out to touch Dwalin's fingers briefly in another gesture of thanks, locking their gazes briefly. "I could never be worthy of all that you are giving me."

"Aw, shush." Dwalin squeezed his hand as well, laughing quietly. "You deserve every single one of those gifts and you know it."

Thorin just shook his head, the smile never leaving his face. Sometimes they had much more serious arguments about what he had just said, but right now he was feeling content and even almost happy. He looked down at the ornaments in his hands again, then held his hand up to Dwalin.

"Would you like to help me put them in?" he asked.

"Of course." Dwalin began humming happily when he took the strands of Thorin's hair in his hand and began combing through them. Thorin sighed in bliss at Dwalin's ministrations and leaned back, closing his eyes.

"Are they from one of your warg kills?" he inquired, wondering distantly which of the many wargs they had fought it had been.  

"Yeah." Dwalin's movements with which he cared for Thorin's hair remained calm and steady. "'twas the one who took part of my ear."

A soft shudder run through Thorin at the memory when he recalled just how close Dwalin had come to death that day. If the warg had struck him only a hand's width closer to his face he might not be here at all now. He shook his head internally, trying to free himself from the image. Dwalin was here now with him and that was all that counted.

"If I remember correctly that was also the one that you sliced open in the end to look for that one ear clasp?" he remarked - remembering _that_ part of the day just as well.

"Well. It was your courting clasp, after all," Dwalin said dryly. "No way would I let some random warg take that away from me and digest it. And I made use of its bones, too."

Thorin just snorted in amusement, thinking that the entire act was so like Dwalin that he wouldn't have expected anything else from him.

"Still, no need to go rummaging in warg intestines," he pointed out. "I could have always made you new ones."

"It wouldn't have been the same." Dwalin shrugged, but his hands remained gentle in their combing of Thorin's hair despite the quick movements. The teeth of the comb were scraping Thorin's scalp and Thorin found himself sighing with enjoyment - Dwalin knew just how sensitive the skin underneath his hair was and how much he loved it to be scratched and massaged.

"I wonder what the other dwarrows would say if they knew that their king is basically an oversized cat," Dwalin mused as he began to start braiding the first strands of Thorin's hair with quick and deft moments. "Lounging around on bed and positively purring when someone scratches your head."

"That's why nobody but you is allowed to know about it," Thorin replied with a yawn. It had been a long day, filled with hard work and he was slowly getting tired, especially under Dwalin's gentle ministrations. "Can't have my secret weakness exposed now, can I. And I will punish you terribly should any word of it ever come out."

"Oh yes, my king, I am terribly afraid." Dwalin laughed as he careful tied off the first braid and started on the second that he would interweave with the first in order to make them big enough for the clasp.

"Insolent," Thorin murmured, his eyes slowly falling shut as Dwalin finished the second braid and closed both of them off with the clasp in his hands. Dwalin just hummed in reply and reached for the beads.

"Would you like me to finish putting them in tomorrow?" he asked. "Seems like you are ready to go to sleep at the moment."

"Mhmmmm." Thorin couldn't find it in himself to give a clearer answer. He could feel Dwalin jostling him slightly and then his partner's fingers were in his hair again, carefully undoing the clasp he had just put it on so it wouldn't accidentally break at night.

"The bone looks beautiful in your hair," Dwalin mused quietly as he put them on Thorin's nightstand.

"Only because they have been carved by your hands," Thorin replied sleepily. "Don't put them too far away, I'd like to wear them tomorrow."

"As you wish, my king," Dwalin teased him gently. Thorin cuffed him gently in the waist in response, the effect immediately negated by a large yawn.

"If I am your king, then I order you now to come here and sleep next to me,"  he threw back in Dwalin's direction, still in the blissful state of being half asleep already.

"Gladly." There was some rustling and Thorin knew that Dwalin was changing into his nightclothes. After a moment the bed creaked when Dwalin's weight was added to it again and Thorin could feel his reassuring weight settling down next to him. Thorin sighed quietly in his satisfaction and turned to snake an arm around Dwalin's waist, drawing him closer towards himself until he could feel his warmth again his skin.

"My personal furnace." Thorin sighed happily.

"Glad to be of service." Despite his closed eyes, Thorin could almost see Dwalin's grin. His partner murmured something else that was almost unintelligible before Thorin could feel one hand carding through his hair again, massaging his scalp. He responded with another happy grumble, especially when Dwalin's fingers where followed by his lips peppering soft kisses into Thorin's hair. Thorin's fingers found Dwalin's, interlacing them with his own and squeezing slightly.

He could feel himself drifting off to sleep, surrounded by Dwalin's warmth and the security of their home. Dwalin's breathing was evening out as well and it wasn't long until they both dropped off into slumber, bodies close and hands still intertwined.


	2. Chapter 2

Cheating a little bit - today's (aka Tuesday's) fic can be found [ here ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7529059)! It's a fluffy little thing, a Fix-it for _For Whom The Bell Tolls_.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: When a mentally healthy character making mistakes it is 'complex, well-rounded characterisation', but when a mentally ill character makes the same mistake they are 'unworthy' and 'a bad person'? (Like, apparently you have to be 100% positive and friendly and seeking help all the damn time when you're mentally ill. But when you're healthy it's fine if you have bad days and sometimes behave badly towards others. Making mistakes or having a bad day doesnt automatically turn you into a bad person. Jfc.)
> 
> Anyway, this was hard to write because there is a lot of myself in it. I hope you'll still enjoy reading - give me a shoutout if you think I handled things the wrong way. 
> 
> Warnings for nightmares, discussion of PTSD and depression in this chapter.

There was blood in his dreams and blood on his tongue. Once, when has was younger, Thorin'd thought that surely, time must have a way of softening even the most jagged edges of memory, of making him forget everything that he'd seen in his life so far, from the fire burning their people to the blood splattered grounds of Azanulbizar. He thought that if he only waited long enough, if he pulled through again and again, one day those memories would fade and lose their terror, like dwarfling's tales sometimes seemed to lose their magic when one grew older.

He had been wrong.

The stretches of time when he wasn't assaulted by nightmares had gradually grown longer, yes - but it was the only thing that had happened. The dreams, the memories, they were just the same they had always been, and their grasp as bitter and terrible as on the first night that he had screamed himself hoarse at their sight, only waking up when his flailing arms had knocked over a mug on his nightstand that had shattered on the floor.

In those first nights he had been ashamed of himself, embarrassed even - how could he be strong enough to one day carry the burden of his people if he couldn't even escape a single nightmare? Even when Dwalin was with him, he had always made sure to turn away and stifle his shouts, hoping that his partner somehow wouldn't notice. But of course Dwalin eventually did - even though they were both still learning each other, he already knew Thorin better than he knew himself.

It wasn't much - sometimes only a soft touch or a whispered word in the darkness, nothing more. However, it was also exactly what Thorin needed many of times - he didn't _want_ to talk, sometimes not even be touched and once he understood that Dwalin would respect his wishes no matter what, it became easier to voice what he needed - and to say no. It didn't always work, of course not, but Thorin would take 'sometimes' over 'never' any day.  

Tonight was one of those night where, even after decades, the stench of death still seemed to be clogging his nostrils as he was wading through a lake of fire and blood in a desperate search for his loved ones, only to find them dead, but always out his reach. He thought he saw tendrils of blackness stretching out at him, out at those he was trying to protect and fought back with all his mind, fought harder than ever before, even in his waking life.

He didn't even notice when he woke up. This time, the boundary between dream and wakefulness was fluid and remnants of the nightmare were still floating around him as he kept thrashing wildly, fighting not only against the constraints of the dream but also that of the blanket that had somehow wrapped itself around its ankles like a shackle. He could feel someone trying to restrain him but in his blind fear he fought even harder, thinking that an orc had him by the shoulders and was holding him back from helping those that needed him.

Then his arms hit something and there was a muffled shout next to him. It was the shout that brought him back into reality - the voice of Dwalin in pain made his body jerk awake instantly and he grabbed for the knife that was never far when he was sleeping. There were no other sounds, however, only Dwalin's soft cursing and the rustling of their bedding.

"There's nobody here," Dwalin said, voice sounding rather nasal as if his nose was clogged.  It still took a moment for Thorin's breath to calm down and his hand to steady enough so that he could light the candle on his nightstand.

His eyes widened when he saw Dwalin the light of the candle. Dwalin's shirt sleeve was soaked through with blood where he had pressed his arm against his nose and his eyes were glistening with pain. It took Thorin a moment to comprehend what had happened and when he did, he felt like his body was slowly freezing and turning into ice from the inside.

"Did I-" He swallowed and had to start again. "Did I hit you? Dwalin I'm-"

Dwalin waved his other hand through the air as if to say that everything was normal.

"'s fine," he mumbled. "N'thing bad."

"Well, obviously not." Thorin stared pointedly at Dwalin's red sleeve, already half out of bed to get a rag for him to stem the blood flow from his nose with. He grabbed the first best bit of cloth he could find (one of his old tunics, it later turned out) and handed it over to Dwalin to use instead of his own soaked-through clothing. Dwalin took it with a grateful nod and Thorin winced as he saw the full amount of damage on Dwalin's face - his nose was still gushing blood and already swelling up, and would no doubt be a colourful sight come morning.

"I'll go get some snow from outside." Thorin didn't even wait for Dwalin's reply as he clambered out of the bed and walked downstairs, bare feet feeling strange on the floor. He could feel his entire body trembling, barely holding himself together as he left the room. That he would _hurt_ Dwalin...it didn't matter whether it was intentionally or not, whether it had been because of his dreams or not. The damage was done and a small part of him would always hate himself for it, that much was sure.

He walked downstairs and stepped outside without bothering to put on shoes, gathering some snow into a cloth from the kitchen with his bare hands. Thorin relished the pain of the cold on his fingers, wished violently that they would fall off with frostburn so they could never do such a stupidity again. He pressed both of his hands flat into the snow, hoping that the ground would simply swallow him up.

The cold crept into his fingers and toes but still he didn't move; only when he could hear footsteps on the stairs coming down into the living room did he slowly raise his hands from the ground again. He didn't turn around until he heard Dwalin speak, however.

"Thorin?" Dwalin's voice still sounded muffled and as Thorin turned he saw that his nose had swollen up quite considerably in the mean time. Another flare of pain went through him - he should never have waited so long outside, just to ride out his own selfish whims. Wordlessly he handed Dwalin the cloth with the snow inside to press on his nose before he stepped inside, closing the door behind himself again.

"You alright?" Dwalin mumbled from beneath the cloth. At least the blood flow had lessened now, most of it clotted on his upper lip.

"Look who's asking." Thorin didn't quite manage a smile with the words, but he tried. Before Dwalin could say anything else he ushered him back up the stairs and told him to sit down on their bed and wait. Dwalin must have seen the expression in Thorin's eyes for instead of saying anything he simply nodded. Thorin remained where he was standing for a moment, not quite sure of what to do. A large part of himself simply continued to want to hide away, not facing Dwalin and what he'd just done. The other one clamoured to go and help Dwalin and limit the damage, maybe even go and fetch their healer to see how bad it was. Thorin already feared that Dwalin's nose was broken, even though his mind was yet trying to make up reasons for why it clearly looked much worse than it was.

Finally he took a deep breath and turned his steps back upstairs, although he was much slower than he could have been. The moments until he reached the top seemed to drag out into eternity and he kept looking down at his fingers, slowly flexing them as if they weren't even his. They were still stiff and cold from the snow outside and once again he wished savagely that they would just fall off. Maybe then he would finally stop being a curse on the lives of everyone he came across.

Thorin hesitated once more when he was about to open the door to his and Dwalin's room. The door felt like it was made of heavy stone instead of flimsy wood and he wished he could simultaneously both turn back time and fast forward it.

"Thorin?" Dwalin's voice sounded from inside and Thorin startled. He must have made some kind of sound before or Dwalin had simply felt that he was there, like he seemed to be so uncanningly able to do. Thorin swallowed and pushed open the door, ready to face whatever sight was waiting for him inside.

On first sight, little seemed to have changed. Dwalin was still pressing the cloth with the snow (now already just cold water wetting the fabric) to the bridge of his nose whilst trying to clean up the blood on his face with his other hand.

"Wait. Let me help you." Thorin waited for Dwalin to give him a little nod before he picked up the bloody cloth Dwalin had used and do the work for him. He winced once more when he saw the damage on Dwalin's face - his arm must have hit his partner's nose right on and Thorin was by no accounts a weak fighter. Dwalin's hand clamped around Thorin's knee as Thorin kept cleaning and prodding the swollen flesh carefully. The gesture was so familiar to him that it made Thorin's heart ache; how often had they been sitting like this before, looking at each other's wounds? With the one difference that this time it had all been Thorin's fault.

Thorin's fingers trembled despite every effort to hold them still. He determinedly tried not to meet Dwalin's eyes but of course Dwalin noticed - despite the pain he was as perceptive as ever.

"Hey." Dwalin slowly raised a hand and put it over Thorin's, trying to still the shaking of his fingers. "It wasn't your fault."

"Of course it was." Thorin fought to keep his voice steady and this time, at least, he won. "Wasn't exactly like there was anybody else in the room."

"That's not what I meant and you know it." Dwalin's voice was still mostly even, but Thorin could hear the slight exasperation beneath.

"Then what _did_ you mean?" Thorin asked back, his tone intentionally pointed

"That you should stop blaming yourself for every little thing that happens. That you stop try being better than everybody else. It was a dream, Thorin. Could've happened to me, could've happened to Dís, could have happened to _anyone_."

"But that's the point." Thorin insisted. He was tired and angry and feeling lower than he had in a while. He simply wanted to go back to sleep and forget that anything ever happened. "I didn't happen to anyone else. Just me. I have an _obligation_ -"

"You were fucking _dreaming_!" Dwalin was so angry he was almost shouting now, in pain and as tired as Thorin himself. "There is nothing that you could have done about it! Why do you insist on blaming yourself when you-"

"Because it's the truth!" Now Thorin was angry as well. He could still feel his hands shaking and when he looked at Dwalin he saw that his partner wasn't calm at all either. Had he been less tired he would have known that it was useless to argue anything between them as they were at the moment, not in the state that they were both in right now.

Dwalin sighed before taking the cloth out of Thorin's hand and settling back against the bed frame again. He was obviously not inclined to go see a healer on the spot and Thorin felt another wave of anger well up inside him at him being so careless. Looking back at it later, probably anything, no matter what, would have made him even angrier at that moment - it was both in his and Dwalin's blood that once the flames inside him had been kindled, they were difficult do douse again.

Thorin reached out for his blanket and the pillow and Dwalin frowned when he saw his movement.

"What are you doing?" he demanded to know.

"I'll sleep downstairs tonight." Thorin balled up his blanket so that he could carry it easily, suddenly eager to leave the room. But Dwalin wasn't about to let him go easily.

"Why? Because of what happened? Don't be silly." Dwalin's voice still sounded gruff.

Thorin felt another bout of rage bubble up inside him. He felt almost like a child being reprimanded.

"Yes," he replied sharply and, without waiting for Dwalin's reply or explaining himself further, left the room and closed the door behind him. He would have banged it shut hadn't it been in the middle of the night; as it was he had no desire to wake his sister and the others in the house. He knew he wasn't thinking clearly at the moment but the desire to either run or otherwise shout was far too strong. With a small huff and after a short moment of consideration he put his blanket and pillow down in front of the fireplace, fighting down the memories of the numerous times he had fallen asleep here with Dwalin before.

Of course, sleep wouldn't come again. He was tossing and turning and his head kept assaulting him with numerous thoughts, one worse than the other. And, although he would have never admitted it, he missed Dwalin's steady presence by his side. It had always been harder for him to fall asleep on his own since the mountain had fallen - in the decades afterwards it had been Dís and Frerin who had curled up next to him and then, more and more commonly, Dwalin. He felt himself longing desperately for their closeness now and at the same time wanting to push everyone away, thinking how he was only going to hurt them further should they come close.

Thorin rolled himself up into a tight ball, his blanket wrapped firmly around him. He tried to concentrate on the feeling of the roughly spun wool on his fingers to distract himself from the storm in his thoughts, but to little avail.  He spent the rest of night tossing and turning, dozing off for a few moments only to jerk awake again every other moment, either from the phantoms of his own mind or an unexpected sound outside. When the first light of the morning crept through the windows he felt even more tired than he had been before. Thorin decided to forego any contact with people for now and quietly crept into the pantry to salvage some leftover bread from the previous day and dried meat. Then he walked outside, not quite knowing what to do yet.

After a few moments he decided he could as well put his still black mood to good use and begin chopping some more wood for the fires in the forge and their home. It was good, hard work and he needed at least some of his concentration to make sure that the strokes of his axe wouldn't go amiss. Thorin deliberately tried to lose himself completely within his work and kept on going long after his shoulders and arms began to ache from the heavy axe. Exhaustion was good. Pain was good, too. Both distracted him from the screaming in his head.

He was so enamoured in his work that he didn't even hear the steps coming from behind. Only after a while did he realise that someone was calling his name. Thorin turned around only to see his sister standing there, worry in her eyes as she took in his ragged figure and the deep rings that had to be under his eyes.

"Have you had breakfast yet?" she asked him. Thorin nodded, not willing to tell her that it hadn't been exactly much. Dís would only worry and that was what he needed least right now. His sister, of course, knew him well enough to see right through him; but instead of admonishing him she simply sighed.

"Dwalin went to the healer earlier," she told him, pretending not to notice how Thorin's movements stiffened at the mention. She didn't continue, however, but waited for him to say something.

"And?" he finally prompted her, careful not to let his annoyance show.

"His nose was broken. A simple break, not hard to set. Dwalin said he's had a lot worse before."

Thorin nodded, not even realising how tightly his fingers clenched around the axe in his hands.

"He wants to talk to you," Dís continued, frowning slightly. "But he wasn't quite sure whether you..."

Here her voice trailed off and she shrugged. Thorin caught the gist of sentence anyway. _Whether I was in my right mind or not,_ he thought bitterly. Of course. A small part of him knew that he was being unfair but that didn't do anything to change his mind. And the terrible guilt that was still roaring inside him told him that he deserved every single bit of scorn the others might have for him.

"Thorin." His sister's voice rang through the air again and he thought he could hear a hint of annoyance in it. "You know that you're being ridiculous, right? Dwalin told me all about it. _It wasn't your fault_."

Thorin sighed and rammed the axe into the wooden block before him to secure it before he fully turned around to face Dís.

"It was." He lifted his hand before his sister could say anything else. "But even if it weren't, what am I supposed to do? It could happen again. It probably _will_ happen again."

Thorin took a deep breath before he continued, letting out the words that had been building up inside him since the previous night.

"I wouldn't be able to bear to see him hurt again."

Dís' eyes softened a little, although she made no move to comfort him, knowing him well enough that she was certain he didn't want to be comforted right now.

"Don't you think you're being a little unfair to Dwalin now?" she demanded to know. Thorin scowled, but she was faster. "Shouldn't it be Dwalin's choice too whether he wants to take the risk?"

"I _hurt_ him, Dís," Thorin said again, emphasising each word. "I thought he was a bloody _orc_. Do you know what could have happened? How bad it could have been?"

He had dreamed of this, in those short moments where he had drifted off to sleep tonight - had dreamed of Dwalin's body bloody and lifeless under his fingers, everything he held dear slowly bleeding away from him. The fundamental terror that the dream had planted in his heart would never fully disappear, he knew that. And he could do nothing but hate himself for it and hate the people around him who didn't seem to understand.

"Thorin." Dís came closer and made a movement as if to lift her hand and put it on his arm. "You need to trust yourself more. _I_ know, and Dwalin knows, too, that you would never seriously harm him."

Thorin shook his head in reply. How did they still trust him so much? Couldn't they _see_?

"No. No, the risk is too great."

Dís sighed and stepped away from him, knowing as well as Thorin did that further arguing would be a lost cause. Thorin watched her as she walked back to the house, thinking about the small dwarf that was growing inside her at the moment. He wondered if he could ever be as good an uncle as the pebble deserved. In his current mood he didn't think it likely.

Thorin's black mood persisted throughout the next days and more than once he wished that he could simply catch a break and hide away somewhere for a few days all by himself, until his thoughts had finally calmed down. However, as it was, of course business in the settlement didn't stop just because he wanted it to; and his abilities as leader were needed more than ever. As a king, he simply couldn't afford to take a holiday, even if he was a bad one. He still didn't return to the bed that he normally shared with Dwalin, choosing instead to stay in his armchair or in front of the fire at night. Of course he slept badly; and what was worse, he could see that Dwalin slept badly as well.

Instead of talking it out, however, they chose to spend their days silently. They were still working together in the forges and outside when it was necessary. Bringing food on the table was more important than pride or an argument between them. However, barely a word passed between them as they did so and Dís, just like her brother, was not one to fill the air with useless chatter either. The tension kept simmering between them, with both Dwalin and Thorin becoming more and more irritated as time went on, both from a lack of sleep, the absence of each other's comfort and the issue that still wasn't resolved between them. Dís didn't offer to mediate between them; she knew well enough that this was something that they had to sort out between themselves and she was not the kind to have it pressed on to her.

It was Dwalin who eventually took the first step. Dís had left the forge early because her stomach simply did not seem to want to settle and so Dwalin and Thorin were left alone to finish up the day's work in the forge. Thorin didn't turn to see what Dwalin was doing until he heard a soft rustle and steps coming towards him.

"Thorin." Dwalin was standing beside him as Thorin looked up. He was holding a large bit of fur in his hands that bore the characteristic markings of a warg pelt. Dwalin saw Thorin's gaze travelling along it and shrugged. "I noticed that you...aren't sleeping well. I thought maybe a softer pelt would help. There."  

He held it out in Thorin's direction and there was no need to ask whether Dwalin had killed the warg it belonged to himself. Of course he had. After a moment of hesitation Thorin took the pelt and ran his hand through the shaggy fur. His tongue seemed to be glued to the edge of his mouth and he didn't quite know what to reply.

"Thanks," he nodded, still not daring to look into Dwalin's eyes.

"You could always come back to our bed. You know that." Dwalin ventured forward and Thorin could hear the hesitation in his voice, a rare thing for Dwalin. Thorin didn't know what to say. There was a small part of himself that longed to say yes, to let bygones be bygones, but at the same time he knew he couldn't. Not this easily. His mind wouldn't let him.

"I don't want it to happen again," Thorin told him, finally looking up at Dwalin. "And I don't know how to make it stop."

"Then don't," Dwalin reached up to scratch his head, obviously thinking about how he should phrase the next few words. Instead of saying the words lying on his own tongue, Thorin waited for him to continue. Dwalin gestured helplessly as he finally spoke on.

"You don't...you don't have to be perfect, you know? I know you think you do and that it's the end of the world when you aren't, but truth is that you have every single right in the world to be imperfect. Especially when there's nobody else but me. Or but Dís."

Dwalin's arms fell almost helplessly at his side. It was rare for him to speak so much at once and Thorin found himself giving him a tiny smile, even as his own fingers continued to stroke the pelt on his knees. The smile left his face as quickly as it had come when he thought back to the dreams he'd had in the previous nights.

"What if one day I lose myself completely? What if I think you an intruder and kill you or wound you worse than now? What if it's not you but Dís, or Víli, or their little pebble? I could never forgive myself for that. Ever."

"I trust you." Dwalin offered the words freely and openly. "More than anyone. And do you have so little faith in me and your sister that you don't think we could defend ourselves?"

"I-" Somehow Dwalin's last words just made it worse. Thorin felt the familiar ache of guilt settling in his guts again as he thought about how his words must have hurt them. It seemed like no matter what he said or did, it was wrong. "I'm sorry."

"No, don't-" Dwalin made a frustrated little sound and ran a hand over his bald head. For the sliver of a second Thorin was reminded of the mohawk that had once sat there and that Dwalin had shaved in grief for all those fallen at Azanulbizar. "You don't always need to apologise, alright? It's okay."

Thorin opened his mouth and shut it again, at a loss for words and beginning to feel worse and worse. He wished he could simply let go and howl in frustration. Dwalin seemed to sense his thoughts, for he stepped closer and locked their gazes.

"Look, for all that it's worth...I'm sorry too."

"But you shouldn't-" Thorin felt almost stupefied by Dwalin's words.

"Just as you shouldn't. But we both made mistakes." Dwalin shrugged. "And I hadn't realised just how much you were beating yourself up over it. Even over those that weren't really mistakes."

Thorin didn't quite know what to answer to that, his mind whirling with thoughts and a multitude of emotions. He wished he could scream, only so he could get a moment's silence in his mind. His fingers were clenching the fur in his lap. and he wished Dwalin would leave him alone even if just for a moment, so that he could sort of the chaos in his mind. Dwalin seemed to be able to sense his thoughts for he gave him a small smile before he turned around to leave the forge.

"I hope you'll sleep better tonight." Dwalin attempted to hide the slight bitterness in his voice although he didn't completely succeed. He seemed to notice for his forehead creased and then he added: "And, yeah, come back to bed whenever you're ready. I'll be waiting for you."

Thorin was left sitting inside the forge with the half-mended pot in front of him and staring at the air without really seeing anything, scrunching up the pelt that Dwalin had left with him. Finally a shout rose up from his throat and he threw the remnants of the raw metal next to him against the wall where it left a deep dent. He smashed his knuckles into the workspace in front of him once, twice, then one last time until he could feel the sting of pain through them. A dark part of himself welcomed it, revelled in the solace that it brought. Only when the pain became unbearable did he leave off, watching as his hands trembled slightly.

His mind seemed to be tearing itself apart, telling that he did not deserve anybody like Dwalin, that he should leave and never return and at the same time chastising him for all the selfishness that those thoughts were bearing. How much easier things would be if he simply weren't there...

Thorin's attention only shifted back to reality once there was a loud clang. He looked up and saw that he had accidentally pushed his hammer off the work surface in front of him and it had fallen to the ground, only a finger's breadth away from his boot. Thorin was vaguely aware that he should be thankful the hammer hadn't hit his foot straight on and injured him, but somehow he simply couldn't find it in himself to do so.

With a sigh he folded the pelt that Dwalin had given him with an almost tender movement and put it aside, picking up his hammer again as he did so and continuing to work on the pot in front of him. The monotony of the task was what he needed right now, even though he knew well that it just helped to push his thoughts aside instead of dealing with them. However, he was barely able to focus his thoughts properly on the task, growing more and more frustrated as time went on. And with frustration came the anger again, the hate that he was apparently too stupid to even do a task as simple as this.

After another few moments, he gave up, letting the hammer drop to the floor again where it landed with a clang and almost seemed to stare at him accusingly. He rubbed his forehead with his hands, suddenly feeling endlessly tired.

"Thorin?" There was a voice from the doorway. The motion to raise his head and look seemed almost too exhausting but in the end he managed to do it. Dís was standing in the door to the forge, one hand on the doorframe and frowning in concern as she looked down at him.

"Dinner will be ready soon. Do you want me to help you clean up the forge?"

"Thanks." Thorin attempted a smile in her direction although he didn't quite succeed by the look on Dís' face. "You don't need to help, I'll manage."

Dís nodded, although she didn't move from the doorway.

"How's your stomach?" Thorin asked her after a moment as the silence started to become uncomfortable.

"Better." Dís gave him a small smile and patted her rounded belly where the little dwarfling was growing. "That's why I told the others I'd come to get you."

"Thank you," Thorin told her again. After a moment he stood up and began to clear his tools away methodically. When he looked around again he saw that Dís was still standing there, one hand on her midsection and a smile on her face.

"The pebble is kicking again," she said, pride colouring her voice. Sometimes it seemed like Dís was still unable to believe that there was another dwarrow growing inside her - that such a miracle was happening at this moment. Thorin gave her a small smile at the statement, feeling a small wave of pride welling over him as well. If only Frerin and the rest of their family were here to see it...

"Come and feel." Without waiting for Thorin's answer, Dís stepped inside. When her brother didn't step away she gripped his hand gently and placed it on her belly. Thorin startled when he could feel what was definitely a kick under his hand and then another.

"Strong," he murmured. "Just like their mother."

"And their uncle." Dís smiled. Thorin sighed and withdrew his hand, although slowly.

"They deserve a much better uncle than I could ever be," Thorin told her with a lopsided smile.

"Maybe." Dís shrugged. "But I am quite sure that you will be far better than you think. And even if - don't you think the little one deserves to judge that for themselves?"

"Probably." Thorin gave a half-shrug, half-nod.

"Think about it." Dís reached out again and gently squeezed his shoulder. "You might not believe it, but we all need you. Especially Dwalin."

Then she smiled and withdrew, stepping out of the door again. "And come to dinner when you're ready."

Thorin nodded at her and returned to cleaning up the forge, trying to find his way through the jumble of thoughts that his sister's words had caused in his head. It took him long to do so, but in the end he took a deep breath and stepped outside the forge, Dwalin's pelt folded up carefully and laid over his arm. When he entered the house, he almost felt like a small dwarfling again, afraid of what was going to happen when he entered the presence of the others of his family after having done something wrong.

The only thing that awaited him at dinner, however, were the smiles from the four assembled dwarves - Víli, Dís, Balin and Dwalin all behaved as if nothing was different, although Thorin could feel the slight tension in the air and the remnants of the alienation between him and Dwalin. There were no words lost about him spending the last nights sleeping in the living room or anything else that had happened and Thorin was both thankful and nervous about it.

Thorin had never been much of a talker and neither had Dwalin; so it was mostly Balin and Víli who kept the conversation moving, from the necessities of their daily lives to the larger developments in the settlements and the stories that were going around. Thorin shook his head with a slightly amused smile; nobody had thought that it would be Víli who was the one knowing all the gossip.  

As always, they remained sitting after dinner, the conversation ebbing and flowing. Normally they would have lit their pipes but since the healer had told them it would be bad for the pebble they had stopped doing so. Thorin still didn't participate much; but the normality of the situation slowly began to fill him with a little more calm than he'd felt before. When everybody finally decided to clean the remnants of their meal away he helped out and then withdrew onto the porch with his pipe and wrapped in his coat, ignoring the cold outside from the last remnants of winter.

He could hear some steps next to him and felt the wooden boards underneath him creak as Dwalin settled down not far from him, although farther than he usually would. Dwalin took out his own pipe and proceeded to stuff and light it without saying anything - stopping in his movements only slightly when Thorin offered him his own bag of pipeweed with a small nod.

They sat in amiable silence, watching as the smoke curled and rose into the darkening sky. Thorin felt something inside him make a first attempt at knitting itself together again - in a silence such as this he thought he had always been able to communicate with Dwalin better than anyone. And even more so in a place that was so familiar to the one where they had shared their first attempt at a kiss. Of course it had been in Dunland, not in Ered Luin, and several decades ago - but the profound security of having Dwalin sit next to him hadn't changed from then to now, not even at this moment. Even when they were fighting or in disagreement, there was nobody that Thorin would have rather had at his side, especially during a battle.

"Dís and the pebble seem to be doing well," Dwalin finally said, in a rather quiet voice.

"Yeah," Thorin agreed with him. "They will make a fine heir after Dís and I are gone."

Dwalin was quiet for a moment before he spoke again, his voice sounding heavy.

"I hope that won't be for a very long time yet. They will have to learn from you first before they are ready for such a responsibility. So...don't leave yet."

Silence reigned between them for a long while, during which Thorin thought about Dwalin's words which were mixing with Dís' from before in his head.

"I won't," he finally said, very quietly. "Or at least I'll try."

Dwalin nodded, not looking at him but the pipe in his hands. Thorin winced slightly when he accidentally caught sight of the fading bruises around his nose again. He still didn't know how he would ever be able to look at Dwalin without feeling all-consuming guilt again.   

"I can't ask for anything more," Dwalin told him. "Just that you...trust me. Trust me enough to let me go on that journey with you."

Thorin nodded, knowing this it wasn't only his choice to make - but also that Dwalin would never do anything that he hadn't agreed with him on. And Dwalin _was_ right - despite his fear and guilt, he was also just incredibly exhausted by now, exhausted from fighting the fight against all the demons both inside and outside his mind on his own.

"I'm just so tired, Dwalin," he said quietly. "Terribly tired."

"I know." Dwalin reached out with his hand, setting it down on the floor between them. An invitation, but one with no pressure or obligation attached to it. The moment seemed to stretch into eternity before Thorin reached out and lightly placed his fingers over Dwalin's. Dwalin didn't move in response and neither did he, but the physical contact between them was enough for the moment.

That night, Thorin slipped quietly into bed next to Dwalin again long after everyone else had gone to sleep. It wasn't a solution for everything or an end to all his troubles, but it was the sign of a beginning. Or at least so he hoped.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you follow me on Tumblr, you probably know that I have a pretty big thing for orcs and their wargs and a bloody ton of headcanons about them. I wrote this to shed a bit of a different light on orcs and their society - just a glimpse but I thought it might be a nice change from the 'EVIL ORCS KILL 'EM ALL' things that Tolkien does, just as I did in Day and Night (also shoutout to TS at this place for their good orcs verse). 
> 
> Warning: no happy ending for the orcs here, sadly.

It was a grey, rainy day that Dwalin and Thorin had chosen for their return to the settlement. They had been in one of the further away villages, negotiating new trade agreements and selling some of the weapons they had been smithing in their spare time; and although the money they had received would normally be considered a pittance for weapons of such high quality and dwarven make it would buy them lots of grain and thus bolster their storage for the winter months sufficiently. Therefore they were in a good mood despite the rain as they led the mule that was carrying most of their belongings along the path that would eventually lead them home in another few days.

Dwalin had to admit that he enjoyed the fact that there were only the two of them more than anything else; it was rare that he had Thorin so much to himself, especially now that their settlement in the Blue Mountains was growing at such a fast rate and Thorin's attention was usually required in ten places at once. It had been a miracle that they had let them go in the first place; but Thorin had rightfully argued that it would probably be favourable for their negotiations if the king came in person and Dís was able to govern the settlement just as well as him, of that there was no doubt. Dwalin suspected that Thorin had been craving a break himself, and this had given him the perfect reason for it.

Despite being out in the open at most nights Dwalin was rather content. They always divided the night's watch between them and although both of them slept lightly, they were able to get enough rest to carry them throughout the day. And since nobody was watching, there was a lot more open closeness between them than would usually be the case in company - more than once Thorin fell asleep with his head pillowed on Dwalin's shoulder and Dwalin made no effort to try and refrain from putting his head on Thorin's leg when he was lying down to sleep. Dwalin felt a smile creep over his face when he thought of the evening lying ahead - the weather meant that they would huddle together even more closely. He almost wished the journey would take just a few days longer.

He was so lost in his thought that he didn't hear the sound until almost too late, but thankfully Thorin was a few moments faster than him. He immediately dropped the packs that he was carrying and fell into a defensive position, calling out Dwalin's name. Dwalin heard it at the same moment as the call reached his ears - the crackling of branches in the underbrush, rapidly closing in, a sure sign that they were being attacked either by orcs or a wild creature.

It was two wargs that jumped at them out of the underbrush. Gigantic, snarling creatures, each with a rider on its back that seemed to be almost fused with it, their motions fluid and deadly. However, in the split second before they were on them, Dwalin could see the raggedness of the wargs' coats and the slight desperation in the orcs' eyes. Nonetheless, he and Thorin met them heads-on, backs to each other, their movements and positions so familiar because they had done it a thousand times before. Dwalin knew no words to truly describe the union he experienced with Thorin in battle - it was like they were in bed together, and yet completely different. One being, with two heads and four arms, connected so strongly that it felt like string between them could never rip.

The warg riders came at them from opposite sides and they turned to face one of them each. Dwalin heard the wet thud with which Thorin's sword connected with the warg's flesh and a pained yowl cutting through the air in reply. At the same time Dwalin ducked to avoid a swing from the orc at him and threw himself to the side in one fluid motion with Thorin as he made a cut at the warg's legs.

The beast sidestepped and Dwalin's axe only cut through empty air, but at that moment Thorin twirled and managed to cut deeply into the leg of the orc astride on it. Dwalin took the opportunity to finish his roll forwards and engage the other warg - it was limping, blood dripping heavily from its side where Thorin had hit it before.

Dwalin used the warg's pain and its resulting sluggishness for his advantage and brought it down with a single well-aimed strike from his axes. He evaded the slash from the orc on the warg's back, satisfied to see that the tumble of the animal was bringing its rider down as well. The orc made a low, wounded sound as the warg stopped moving and attacked Dwalin with a snarl on their face, their eyes filled with fury. Dwalin could hear another yowl behind him and assumed that Thorin had succeeded in bringing down the his warg as well. Then the orc was over him and he had to focus all of his attention on bringing them down.

The attack was vicious and Dwalin could almost smell the desperation emanating from the orc. He wondered briefly why things seemed so different this time and why there were only two of them when orcs usually attacked in much larger groups, especially the warg riders. Then, however, his attention was occupied completely by trying to stay alive.

He and the orc were circling each other, the orc still snarling angrily. A jump forwards, several slashes and Dwalin gritted his teeth as the orc's weapon grazed his arm. He roared as he came down on the orc again, wielding his trusty battle axe with both hands. It was only a matter of moments in the end - no matter how fast and cunning the orc was, they were no match for Dwalin's ferocity.

Dwalin turned around as soon as the bloody work was done, looking over to where Thorin was standing with his sword lowered, gazing intently at something in front of him. Despite the lowered weapon, Thorin looked tense and when Dwalin walked up next to him he immediately knew why - both the warg and the orc were still alive. However, instead of the orc attacking them, they were protectively crouched over their warg, one hand stroking its trembling flanks even as the other was holding a sharp-looking dagger. They made no move to attack, however.

Dwalin frowned as he saw the gentleness with which the orc was petting their warg. Of course he had known that the connection between rider and animal had to be a close one - it was evident from the way they fought. However, that there was something so gentle, almost soft between them was something that Dwalin hadn't expected to see and a quick glance at his face confirmed that the same was true for Thorin. They were both unsure of what to do now - despite their hatred for orcs they would not kill a foe when they weren't being attacked.

"Don't come any closer!" The orc's words where rough, like rock hewn from stone but never further worked on. Dwalin could now see that they were bleeding as well, a ragged cut on the side where Thorin's sword must have cut them. The wound was deep and without help, it was clear the orc would soon die. "Stay away from her."

The warg lifted its head and whined before sending a low growl in Dwalin's and Thorin's direction. The orc murmured something in their own language, scratching it between its eyes before putting a hand on its head. Dwalin had only ever heard few bits and pieces of orcish, but this sounded rather soothing instead of the usual threatening snarl.

"You attacked us." Dwalin knew he sounded as confused as he felt. He had never seen anything like this before - all he knew the orcs as was as vicious foes who would slaughter anything in their way. Of course a distant part had known that they must have had families, a society, a bond with their animals, but it had never really penetrated his consciousness until now.

"We were separated from our pack. We were starving and needed weapons and supplies."

"You could've-" Thorin stopped mid-sentence and Dwalin was sure that he had been about to say 'bought them' but he realised at the same moment that they couldn't have. Even if they'd had coins or wares to exchange, nobody would have dealings with an orc, at least not around here. They would likely be killed at first sight instead. Thorin and he exchanged a glance and Dwalin saw that he was equally at a loss of what they should do now.

The orc groaned and their gazes were pulled back to them. They were clutching their warg more closely and Dwalin could already see the effects of the blood loss.

"Leave," The orc rasped. "At least let us have our deaths to ourselves." 

"I don't-" Thorin stopped, obviously not knowing how to continue that statement. He exchanged gazes with Dwalin and they both stepped away, nothing how the orc bent down to the warg again and seemed to whisper something into its ear.

"What shall we do?" Dwalin asked quietly. He could read the same helplessness in Thorin's eyes. "Killing them doesn't seem..."

"...right. Yeah." Thorin finished the sentence for him, although he seemed to have to force the words out of his mouth. It wasn't exactly easy overhauling long-held believes in your head. "But if we leave them here, they will die as well, just more slowly and painfully. And if we help them..."

"...they would likely die too. Without their pack? And alone amongst enemies? No chance." Dwalin shook his head.

"We cannot-" Thorin interrupted himself as there was a sound and sudden movement behind them. They whirled around, both having kept the orc and their warg in their visual periphery but were too late to do anything - the warg was twitching in what was obviously its last breath and the black blood running over the orc's chest from where they had stabbed themselves with their own weapon made it clear that they would not live much longer either.

The knife in the orc's hand clattered to the ground as they locked gazes with Thorin who refused to avert his eyes, fingers clutched tightly around the grip of his sword. They remained in their positions until both warg and orc had drawn their last breaths and to Dwalin it felt like something changed in the air when they did, making it both lighter and darker at the same time.

Thorin murmured something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a Khuzdul word for safe journeys and then shook his head, as if he had awakened from a trance. For only a single moment they had lived in a world where their opponent's race hadn't mattered and Dwalin wondered what a world would be like where it was like that every day.

After another few moments Thorin began to clean off his sword with almost mechanical movements and Dwalin followed his example. They did everything in heavy silence, rather at contrast with their good mood from earlier.

"Should we bury them?" Dwalin suggested hesitatingly. "It doesn't seem right to leave them lying here like this." Strange how a few moments could make such a difference - he would have never thought of burying any of the orcs they had killed previously. If he had to be perfectly honest he hadn't even though of them as a folk of their own - just creatures that needed killing. Dwalin shuddered - especially since he knew he would still not hesitate to kill them in a battle.

"I don't know what orcs do with their dead," Thorin said rather quietly. Neither of them was carrying a spade, so burying them in the earth was out of question -  as was burning them. It might have been the proper way to bury an orc, but no dwarf would ever desecrate any dead that they held in any kind of honour by burning them, unless it was in times of utmost despair as at the battle of Azanulbizar.

In the end they decided to carry them a short distance into the forest where they collected rocks and piled them up around the orcs and their wargs, to keep anything else from eating the corpses. It was quiet and hard work, but neither of them complained, only speaking a word here and there if needed. They both looked at the large mound of stone when they were done.

"May they find peace." Dwalin said at last. Thorin nodded.

"And a better life than here," he added at last. They looked at each other and then stepped back to pick up their travel packs where they had left them. Not long after they were on the travel path back home again.

Somewhere along the road Thorin stepped closer to Dwalin, letting their shoulders brush. Dwalin looked at him and mirrored the small smile on his face before Thorin was looking straight ahead again towards where their home was. And if their fingers kept brushing far more often than by mere chance for the rest of the day, neither of them said anything.


	5. Chapter 5

Okay so I'm cheating a bit again here. Today's fic is yet another modern AU and can thus be found in my collection of modern AU fics.

Click [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2561873/chapters/17182825) if you want to read about contract killers Dworin who meet because they want to get rid of their victim's corpses in the same dumpster. Also includes Dori to whom there is more than meets the eye and makeout sessions in tuxedos. You know you want to read it.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's theme was hurt/comfort AND OF COURSE I SHOUTED A LOT BECAUSE YES YES THAT IS WHAT I'M HERE FOR. Apologies that this appears a little unpolished, I kind of ran out of time...(and I still have to finish writing tomorrow's fic, ahhhhhh)

Sickness was something that ailed dwarves very rarely. True, there were illnesses that could ravage even their bodies and kill them - but such a happening was rare amongst them and often viewed as a bad omen. Wound fever, however, was something different. Maybe the one illness that most dwarves succumbed to, it sometimes seemed to strike out of nowhere. Even though dwarven healers knew what caused it and always did their best to prevent it, one could never be entirely sure, especially when orcs' weapons were involved that often carried hidden poisons on them.

Apparently it was not only orcs, Thorin mused, but men and sometimes even members of their own race was well.

Dwalin groaned again next to him and Thorin reached out almost automatically to soothe him with a touch of his hand. They had been attacked the previous day on their way back from a trade mission and Dwalin had caught an arrow in the shoulder - normally not a wound of much concern, but it seemed like this time the arrow had been laced with some kind of poison. Bruni, the other dwarf who had been hit by one of the arrows in the stomach had died of his wound the previous night and Dwalin was barely pulling through, although his fever seemed to have dropped at least a little since the sun had risen this morning.

It seemed that only the arrows of their attackers had been poisoned for all others in their little caravan were arguable doing fine after their wounds had been looked after by Óin. The ones attacking them had been men - not the usual ragged bandits who often stole and robbed out of pure necessity, but a well-organised band of probably defected soldiers or mercenaries who were good fighters and gave them far more trouble than Thorin had anticipated. Worst of all was that most of them had escaped - and with their wounded Thorin had been unwilling to follow and hunt them down, their safety his top priority first. Should the bandits ever return, he wasn't sure whether he or Balin would be the ones to kill them first. Balin's rage was a thing that mostly slept, but once awakened it was more terrifying than the Maker's wrath itself. He would have torn down the mountains themselves to protect his little brother.

They had been lucky enough to find a cave for the night that offered them some degree of protection from the elements. Thorin had barely slept, however, watching constantly over Dwalin and trying to calm him and provide him with a steady anchor during his fever dreams. He banned the thoughts firmly from his mind but he knew that part of the reason why he stayed awake was also to be with Dwalin should his last moments have arrived. Dwalin had to know that he wasn’t alone. Not ever.

"Thorin..." The whisper was rough and so quiet that he almost didn't hear it. If it had been anybody else but Dwalin, Thorin probably _would_ have overheard it.

"Dwalin." Thorin forced a smile on his face and turned to face his partner to where he was lying on his cloak, head next to Thorin's knee. He saw Dwalin's fingers twitching and immediately reached for his hand.

"It's alright," he told him softly. "You're safe. It's alright."

"Thorin," Dwalin whispered his name again and this time Thorin could hear some peace in his voice at the reassurance that everything would be fine. He reached out and pressed a flask with some water to Dwalin's lips, letting him drink a little before taking it away again.

"I'm here," he smiled, squeezing Dwalin's hand gently and surprised when Dwalin made a weak attempt to squeeze back. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired," Dwalin answered, his voice still rough and words slightly slurred. "What happened?"

"You got hit by a poisoned arrow," Thorin told him, still not letting go of his hand. "The poison spread quickly."

There was no need for him to say anything else. No need to say how he had spent the night cradling Dwalin's head in his lap, trying to call him back from the edge and holding him whenever he shouted Thorin's name, Balin's and the ones of those long gone, as if he could already see them in the Halls. He had not cared much for propriety or the adequate behaviour of a king that night and the other dwarrows  had respectfully given him, Balin and Dwalin all the space they had needed.

Dwalin closed his eyes again and sighed. Thorin thought he had gone back to sleep, but then Dwalin spoke again.

"And you?"

"I'm fine." It was just like Dwalin to have been close to death and still ask him about his health. He answered Dwalin's next question before he could ask it. "Balin, too. He's out with most others at the moment, trying to find the bandits' lair."

Dwalin snorted weakly, knowing well that it was just like Balin to leave and take revenge the moment Dwalin's fever had broken. Thorin could see his eyes falling shut again and bent down to press a soft kiss on Dwalin's forehead, still not letting go of his hand.

"Now go back to sleep. It's alright. I promise I'll be there when you wake up."

Dwalin smiled a little at the familiarity of that old promise between them before he closed his eyes again with a sigh. Thorin could hear his breathing evening out only moments later, now reassuringly firm and slow and not at all like the fevered haze it had been in the previous night. The relief flowing through Thorin was a feeling of almost physical ease and he found himself humming under his breath as he leaned back against the wall of the cave, finally giving in to the exhaustion surging through his bones, now that he could feel that Dwalin wouldn't die. They had two watchers stationed at the entry to the cave that Thorin trusted completely; they would warn him should anything out of the ordinary happen.

Thorin managed to drop off into light slumber eventually, although he jerked awake every few moments at any unusual sound he heard. Turning his head to see whether Dwalin was still sleeping peacefully he then dozed off again.

The sun outside the cave was already high in the sky when he was ripped out of his sleep again, this time by loud shouts. His instincts kicked in before his brain was even fully functioning - he was up on his feet with his sword in hand within moments.

"Thorin?" He could hear Dwalin asking groggily behind him, but for once he had no time to turn back and look at him. Instead his eyes were focused on the men at the entrance of the cave who were currently fighting against the two guards - it was the same bandits who had attacked them the previous day. There were many of them, far too many for the guards to hold back even though they gave their best - but against such a number of fighters they had little chance.

The first of them made it past the dwarves at the entrance and caught sight of Dwalin and Thorin, the latter crouched protectively in front of his partner. Dwalin was in no state to defend himself. There was a shout from the entrance of the cave and one of the guards fell, making spaces for more warriors to come through. Thorin took another step forwards and hefted his sword in his hand, baring his teeth in angry defiance. Rage was filling him - not the burning inferno that he was used to, no, this one was cold, letting him see everything in icy clarity. He would kill those men. For what they had done to his companions. For what they had done to _Dwalin_.

"You won't touch him." He barely recognised his own voice. It almost seemed detached from his own body, cold and calculating.

"Thorin, no!" There was a grunt behind him as Dwalin probably tried to prop himself up. Thorin could only wish that he wouldn't overexert himself, but he had no time to look.

"Stay where you are!" he barked at Dwalin.

Then the first fighter was on him.  

*

Dwalin watched as Thorin charged at the first foe. He swore loudly, cursing the fate that had brought them here and the bandits that had managed to catch them at their most vulnerable moment. His mind was still woozy and every single movement sent the cave around him spinning. Dwalin tried to move and grab a weapon, but he felt weak as a newly born kitten. With a growl he at least managed to put his hands on the knife that was on the pile of clothes next to him. He blinked desperately to clear his sight and look for Thorin.

His partner was currently fighting against three of the bandits at once, palpable fury in every single one of his movements. Thorin's fighting had always been beautiful for Dwalin to look at and even the seriousness of the situation could not entirely dispel that magic, he thought - even though it was a dance to the death and only a single misstep could mean the end.

Dwalin's fingers tightened around the knife and he slowly began to pull himself up into a sitting position, his teeth clenched and sheer stubbornness letting him cling to consciousness. A distant part of him wondered where the other dwarves were - Balin had come with them and so many others. Were they all dead? He would not, _could_ not believe that.

A shout pulled his attention back to Thorin and the bandits that he was fighting against. One of them had managed to wound him on the arm, a shallow wound but wide enough to bleed strongly. Thorin growled something unintelligible, the injury apparently only egging him on. Nonetheless, had Dwalin not be so disoriented, he would have recognised a lot sooner that his partner was slowly beginning to tire. As it was, he only noticed when Thorin was slowly getting overwhelmed by what was now four fighters around him even though several had been eliminated already and were lying unmoving or groaning on the ground. He managed to incapacitate two more of them, but in the end there were too many. It only took a moment of inattention, but that was enough - Thorin's pained shout cut through the air as one of the bandit's swords buried itself deeply in his side.

"THORIN, NO!"  

Dwalin could see Thorin breaking down onto his knees, slashing out in one last desperate strike that caught the one who had delivered the blow and brought them down. There was one bandit left and Thorin stretched with the last of his strength, trying to reach him but they didn't even look, eyes intently focused on Dwalin now. Thorin was mouthing Dwalin's name and Dwalin could feel something inside him break at the sight. Then his focus was taken up fully by the approaching bandit.

Dwalin's fingers were clenched around the hilt of his knife and he tried to mobilize every single last ounce of strength that he could find in his body although his mind told him there was none left. The bandit sprinted towards him, intent on killing him now. Dwalin waited until he was close and took aim with a swing of his arm. Then, with a single loud shout he forced his body to fall forwards, digging his knife deep into the bandit's stomach as he did.

The bandit tumbled down and Dwalin didn't have the strength to pull back in time, so both their bodies hit the ground with a jarring impact. For a moment there were only black and white sparks in front of his eyes but he attempted to push them back. The image of Thorin's lips forming his name was still in his mind. He needed to get to him. Defend him. Thorin could not be dead - not now, not like this.

He growled and opened his eyes again through sheer power of will. The sights and sounds around him in the cave had changed - wherever Balin and the others had been, Dwalin could now hear his brother's voice and that of the others at the entrance to the cave as they successfully hacked their way through the bandits. He realised all this within a moment; but all he had truly eyes for was Thorin's still form on the ground.

Using the very last ounces of his strength he crawled across the floor towards his One. Thorin's eyes were half-closed, although his fingers twitched when Dwalin came close, reaching out in his direction. Dwalin didn't even want to look at the frightening large pool of blood beneath Thorin, wishing frantically that he was stronger, that he could somehow stop what was happening.

"Don't close your eyes," he whispered. "Don't. Stay with me. Don't, _Thorin_ , _don't_."

Thorin's lips were trying to form an answer, but no voice came out. Finally Dwalin's fingers closed around his, shaky and weak. He swore to himself to stay conscious even though he could feel the pull of the darkness himself already - but he wouldn't leave Thorin. Not now.

There were voices coming closer now and he could see shapes moving from the corner of his eyes, gesticulating frantically.

"Thorin. Help." He wanted to shout the words, wanted to let them know that Thorin was dying, that they needed to _save_ him, but nothing came out save a broken croak.

"Dwalin! Thorin!" That was Balin's voice. Dwalin feebly tried to bat his brother's hands away, tried to tell him that he was fine, just needed some rest, that it was Thorin who needed the help not him. After a moment Balin seemed to notice that Dwalin had no new injuries and focused all his attention on Thorin.

Suddenly, there were hands under Dwalin's shoulders, pulling him away and ignoring his weak attempts at fighting back. Something jarred his shoulder where the arrow wound had been and he felt pain flashing through him; this time he was unable to hold back the unconsciousness and blackness descended over him once more.

*

What followed was a confusion of sights and sounds, interrupted by varying periods of darkness. He woke up to the sound of Thorin screaming and the smell of charred flesh in his nose as they cauterised Thorin's wound, but was unable to move or help or even be there for his One so he could share his pain. He shouted Thorin's name, trying to sit up to get to him, but seemingly out of nowhere there were strong hands on his body, forcing him to lie back down and quickly his struggles ceased as darkness came over him again. He woke a few more times, but his memory and mind remained hazy, only picking up on the most random of impressions - a certain smell, the sensation of Thorin close to him, a rough hand on his shoulder wound and the quiet murmur of Thorin's and then Balin's voice.

When he opened his eyes again to clarity around him for the first time, darkness had already begun to fall outside the cave. There was a roaring fire that the dwarves had built inside, the smoke vanishing through some invisible chimneys in the stonen ceiling. Dwalin could feel the heat of it on his skin, noting at the same time that his throat was parched.

His tongue seemed glued to the top of his mouth but he finally managed a few croaking sounds. Immediately there was a rustling next to him and then Balin stepped into his field of view, forehead creased in worry. A slight feeling of relief seeped into his expression as he held a bowl to Dwalin's lips and helped him drink a few sips.  

"Thorin." Dwalin coughed out the word as soon as his mouth was able to do more than just croaking. "Is he-"

"Ssshhhh." Balin but a firm hand on his chest to keep him from sitting up too quickly. "He's alive. Right next to you. On your left."

Dwalin groaned as he turned his head, but at least the dizziness seemed to be less than before this time. As Balin had said, Thorin was lying not far away from him, on his back and with his eyes closed. There was a sheen of sweat on his face and he was breathing rapidly, clearly not sleeping easily. Dwalin reached out to touch Thorin's fingers with his own and almost shrank back when he felt his One's skin - it was clammy and yet strangely warm, not anything like that of a living person should be.

"How bad?" Dwalin asked, his eyes not leaving Thorin's still form.

"We don't-" Balin stopped in the middle of the sentence and swallowed audibly. He knew that Dwalin would take anything but the truth as an insult, no matter how much the truth might hurt.

"The wound was bad. We cauterized it and Óin did all he could, but there is no saying whether he'll survive the night."

"Help me sit up." Dwalin demanded from his brother. Balin, seeing the expression in his eyes bit down on whatever he had wanted to say and immediately went to Dwalin's side again, putting one arm around his shoulder and using the other to stuff a cloak behind his back to prop him up and bolster his back against the wall of the cave.

Dwalin sat as close to Thorin as possible, ignoring the tendrils of weakness that were still snaking through his own body. He put one hand on Thorin's forehead and didn't find it as warm as he had first feared - Thorin was running a fever but it wasn't a strong one. Yet.

Óin had obviously noticed the commotion where Dwalin was and came over with a frown on his face, his dissatisfaction clear. However, he knew better than to chastise Dwalin; past experience had taught him and the others that there was little that could keep Dwalin and Thorin apart if one of them had been seriously injured. Therefore, he only insisted that Dwalin would drink more of the concoction he had made and which was supposed to counteract the last remnants of the poison still coursing through Dwalin’s body.

Dwalin carefully reached out, putting his palm on Thorin’s forehead and smoothing a few strands of hair away from the sweaty skin. Thorin seemed to react to his touch, if only slightly; there was a soft murmur from him and Dwalin could see his eyes moving underneath his eyelids. He didn’t wake up, however. Dwalin sent a questioning glance at Óin, who just shook his head.

“There isn’t much we can do beyond keeping him comfortable and trying to get as much fluid into him as possible,” he said softly. Dwalin nodded, not having expected anything else although a small part of him would never stop hoping for miracles. He tried not to think about the fact that, ultimately, it had been his fault that Thorin had been hurt – had he only been more careful when they were attacked on the road they would not have had to rest and wait for him to get better in the first place and none of this would have happened. If Thorin should die because of this…

A shudder ran through him and he tried to ban the thoughts from his mind as well as he could.

“Don’t die,” he whispered as quietly as possible. “ _Please_. Don’t leave me.”

There was no reply, however, just a soft groan from Thorin’s throat as a shiver ran through his entire body.

The rest of the night went on in almost unbearable slowness. Everyone had seemingly accepted that Dwalin would not leave his place next to Thorin no matter the hour; and just like it would have been useless to try and move the mountain itself so it was useless to attempt and move Dwalin from his spot. Balin tried to make his brother as comfortable as possible, but then he simply sat down next to him, worried glances travelling over his brother and his king.

There seemed to be little change in Thorin’s condition and every hour that he wasn’t improving was slowly whittling away at Dwalin’s confidence that they would both emerge from this encounter unharmed. Óin checked Thorin’s wounds one more time before he lay down to have a rest himself and Dwalin shuddered when he saw the opening in Thorin’s flesh. It seemed so harmless – a dark red line, as long as one of Dwalin’s fingers and not even as wide. The flesh around it looked angry and red but not as bad as if it had been poisoned; somehow it seemed to be rather unfair that a thing so small should be able to cause such harm. Thorin grumbled and twitched when Óin carefully inspected the swollen flesh, making half-hearted attempts to turn away even in his unconsciousness.

Dwalin held vigil the entire night, although he could not fully deny his body the desire to sleep, dozing off from time to time and jerking awake again as soon as Thorin was moving or making any sound. His feeling for time had gone slightly askew since he had been unconscious or asleep for so long himself, but he estimated that it couldn’t be long until dawn when he awoke from very light slumber to Thorin groaning loudly. Almost automatically he reached out with his hand to touch Thorin’s forehead – and shrank back as if he had burnt himself.

“Óin!” His voice was not nearly as strong enough as he wanted it to be, but the desperation in it must’ve cut through their healer’s sleep since he was there only moments later. Next to Dwalin, Balin was stirring, frowning when he saw the commotion.

“He’s burning up,” Dwalin told Óin. “He wasn’t like that earlier. But now he feels like he’s on fire.”

As if to underline his words, Thorin groaned again, his arms twitching. There was a sheen of sweat on his face and Dwalin thought he could almost _see_ the heat rising from his skin. Óin murmured a curse under his breath and began bustling around Thorin, uncovering him and taking off the bandages to have another look at his wound. The flesh around it was still a deep red, now tinged with purple, but it didn’t look to be infected – at least not as badly as the fever would have suggested. Óin shook his head, his gaze darkening and mumbling a few Khuzdul words under his breath. Dwalin shuddered when he recognised the words for putting someone’s fate into the Maker’s hands and praying for kindness.

“Here,” he handed Dwalin a small flask. “Try and get as much of this down his throat as possible and keep him from thrashing around too much, so he will not injure himself any further. Apart from that…I fear it is up to the Maker now.”

Dwalin’s hand almost clenched around Thorin’s shoulder at the words, something inside him drawing itself together into a cold, hard knot.

“I will stay with him,” he said, his voice sounding strangely strangled even to his own ears. “Until…” _Until whatever happens, happens._

And so he did.

It wasn’t long until Thorin began to speak in his fever dreams, and from the franticness of his words it was clear that none of his dreams were pleasant ones. At first all that Dwalin could hear were groans and random shouts of ‘No!’ but soon there were other words and names amongst them, too.

He was calling for his grandparents first, all long lost and returned to the Maker’s Halls. Then he called for his father and mother, as if he could make the horrors of the mountain and battlefield vanish and have them be alive again. Finally, it was his brother’s name on his lips and he began to thrash, calling for Frerin and reliving a death he had never seen with how own eyes, yet probably imagined countless times from the wounds on his brother’s corpse as he had held him.

Dwalin wondered if they were all waiting for them, there in the Halls of their Maker and whether Thorin could already see those whose deaths had been haunting him for so long. He wished he could somehow enter his dreams and pull him away, tell him that he belonged with the living, not the dead.

Finally, the mentions of Frerin’s name ceased and there was silence for a while in which Dwalin wiped Thorin’s sweating brow and tried to dribble as many drops of Óin’s concoction on Thorin’s lips and down his throat as he could.

“Dís,” Thorin said all of a sudden. Then he began trashing again. “Dís. No. No! Dís! NO!”

Dwalin tried to hold him down, not even noticing Balin coming up on Thorin’s other side and helping to keep his legs still.

“Dís!” Thorin roared and Dwalin could almost feel the horror rolling off of him like in waves.

“She’s fine, Thorin, she’s alive, she’s healthy, Thorin-“ Dwalin realised only after a moment that it was him who was talking, a stream of words that was meant to soothe. He didn’t know whether Thorin had heard it or whether his dream simply moved on, but for a moment he quieted again. Then he spoke once more, his voice now barely more than a broken whisper.

“Dwalin. Dwalin, don’t. Don’t go, no, Dwalin, NO-“

“Sssshhhhhh.” Dwalin changed his position, not listening to his body’s protests. Finally he was close enough so that he could bed Thorin’s head on his legs, reaching out to caress his face and hair. “I’m here. It’s all good, I’m fine and I’m here.”

“ _Dwalin_.” Thorin sounded desperate and his arms began twitching again. Dwalin kept up his stream of words, meant to reassure his One that his dreams were nothing but that – dreams. Suddenly Thorin’s eyes opened and although their blue was hazy with fever, Dwalin thought he could see a spark of recognition in them as Thorin’s lips formed his name one more time.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he whispered, trying to smile as he ran one hand through Thorin’s hair and clasped his hand with the other. “I’m here, Thorin, _kurdel_ , I’m here and I won’t leave. So stay with me.”

Thorin blinked once, before a relieved sigh escaped his lips and he closed his eyes again, falling back into his fever dreams. The spectres of his mind kept haunting him for quite some time although they never quite reached the same intensity as before. Dwalin continued to hold him and although he didn’t know it, he formed an almost perfect mirror image of himself and Thorin from the previous night where he had been the one teetering on the verge of death.

When the rays of the sun finally crept inside in the cave, he was as exhausted as never before, as if he had been fighting the fight just as much as Thorin had. It had not been for naught, however – his One was still alive and Dwalin hoped that it wasn’t just wishful thinking that made it appear to him as if Thorin was breathing just a little more easily.

Óin gave a nod of careful encouragement when he examined Thorin again. He didn’t quite announce that Thorin was out of any danger yet – given how weak Thorin was that would have been quite the overstatement. But at least it seemed like there finally was some hope again that he might yet survive this. Dwalin sighed in a first bout of tentative relief, wiping down Thorin’s brow once more and trailing his fingers gently along his beard with all the care he had inside him. Thorin murmured something and turned towards the touch of his hand, making Dwalin smile a little.

“You should rest, too.” At the sound of Balin’s voice Dwalin turned around, looking at his brother whose forehead was still creased in worry as he looked down at him. “It’s been a long night, for all of us.”

Dwalin nodded, taking in his brother’s tired shape and the dark rings under his eyes. He didn’t even want to imagine what it must’ve been like for him to fear for the lives of both his last remaining family member and his friend and king.

“I’m not the only one who needs sleep,” Dwalin grumbled with a pointed look back at Balin. His brother just shrugged and stared right back at him – he was one of the few people on whom Dwalin’s gruffness had never worked. Dwalin sighed, at the same moment as Balin’s expression softened.

“I suppose,” Balin admitted. “I have set a double watch for the next few days so we will be able to take care of those we have lost and those that were wounded.”

As he was speaking, his eyes flickered over to a different corner of the cave where the still forms of the warrior and the watchman lay who had lost the fight against the bandits’ weapons. Next to them was the other guard who had been cut down when the bandits had attacked the cave on the previous day – much like Thorin, she had been fighting for her life all night and only slowly seemed to become better. Dwalin felt guilt welling up inside him that he had been thinking so little about any others apart from Thorin in the previous night – the others had been fine warriors and dwarrows as well and he should have spared at least a little thought for them. Balin seemed to have read his thoughts, for he put a reassuring hand on Dwalin’s unwounded shoulder and smiled gently.

“They have been well cared for and both the dead and the living have not been neglected,” he told him. Dwalin leaned back and sighed again, the bad feeling inside him not vanishing completely. When he looked down, at Thorin’s face, however, he could not find it inside him to be overly angry anymore – at least some of them had survived and that was what counted. He made himself comfortable on the cave floor next to Thorin, a prayer for the dead on his lips when sleep took him again.

*

When he woke up again the first thing he saw was the startling blue of Thorin’s eyes.

“Hey.” Thorin’s voice was quiet and rough around the edges, as if it was still suffering from the screaming of the night. There was a haziness in his eyes showing that the fever hadn’t passed completely yet; but the softness in them as he looked at Dwalin told him that he seemed to have gained most of his sense back at least.

“Hey.” Dwalin replied with a smile. “Feeling any better now?”

Thorin frowned slightly as he seemed to listen to everything his body was telling him.

“Still woozy,” he replied after a moment. “And hurting. Exhausted. As if I spent the entire day running around instead of sleeping. You?”

“Good enough,” Dwalin told him, although he had to stifle a yawn. “Although I certainly won’t be fighting any big battles today.”

“Good.” Thorin shifted slightly and after a moment Dwalin could fell his fingers resting lightly on his own. A smile ghosted over his face. “Me neither.”

Dwalin opened his mouth to speak about what had happened on the previous day, how Thorin had thrown himself in front of him and bought his life almost with his own death. He still shuddered when he thought of it, although he wasn’t quite sure that his fever-addled remembered everything exactly like it happened. Then, however, he saw the expression in Thorin’s eyes and thought differently.

“I wouldn’t do it any different. Unless maybe asking for more guards to be posted at the entrance to the cave.” Thorin had always had the uncanny ability to almost be able to read Dwalin’s thoughts – it had always made communication between them so much easier, especially since Thorin’s mind was often an open book to Dwalin as well.

“I knew you’d say that.” A crooked smile ran over Dwalin’s face and he lifted the thumb of his one hand slightly to catch a touch of Thorin’s fingers with it. “And I guess…if it had been the other way round, I would have done the same. Although I am a lot more expendable than the king…”

“Shhhh.” Thorin’s eyes suddenly turned serious. “Don’t ever say that. Your life is no less or more expendable than mine.”

Dwalin chuckled quietly, but wisely held his tongue. Neither of them were up to much arguing at the moment.

“As you say, my king,” he said softly, his fingers wrapping around Thorin’s. Thorin snorted quietly, but squeezed his hand gently, upholding the touch until they both fell asleep again.  


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here some porn to top off the week. Bookverse in which nobody was left behind in Laketown. *bows* I hope you all enjoyed this week - I certainly had a lot of fun reading and looking at everything!

 

The large treasure hoard of Erebor lay dark and silent, the only illumination the few torches the Company had been able to put up since they had returned. The dragon was gone, they had all seen it flying out of the mountain but to what end, they knew not; and nobody yet dared to speak of what might have happened to those who lived in Laketown which seemed nothing but a smouldering mass now if what they could see from Ravenhill was any indication. They would have spared food if they could; but of that they had little enough themselves as it was. Of course, they all spent little outside anyway – taking ownership of the mountain back into their own hands proved far more important.

The first enthusiasm at having back what was rightfully theirs faded quickly when the enormous amount of damage became visible. The amount of the dead that seemed to be behind every door in the mountain and under every stone was almost staggering and they’d had to leave some corridors more than once because they were simply unable to deal with the sheer numbers of their dead folk.

Such it was that both Dwalin and Thorin were in a strange mood when they entered the large main halls again where the dragon had made its hoard. The mass of gold still took their breath away; Thorin could feel it settling inside his mind and his bones, a longing and at the same the comfort of finally being home again. He felt the desire to look for the Arkenstone like an incessant call in the back of his mind, but for now the presence of Dwalin next to him was enough to distract him from the thought. They stood by side, shoulders brushing, as Thorin held the torch in his hand up high to illuminate the treasure around them.  

Dwalin’s breath caught in his throat, as it always did when he saw the vast halls of their home filled with gold. It was both the riches and the simple feeling of being home again that made shivers run down his spine.

“I cannot believe we are here,” he confessed, awe in his voice.

“Me neither.” Thorin moved closer and Dwalin caught the edges of a smile from him as their fingers brushed against each other. He could see the hunger in Thorin’s gaze as he looked at the gold around him but also the pride of a king who had finally returned home, had finally received his heart’s desire that he had been waiting for for so long. The resulting vacuum seemed to leave Thorin reeling at times and Dwalin was still afraid that at one point, he might lose his balance and slip away from him, somewhere where even Dwalin might have trouble following him.

For now, however, Thorin seemed happy enough. He raised his arm higher, the light of his torch reflecting off of the many coins and trinkets. The movement made a few strands of his hair fall away from his neck and Dwalin felt heat rising up inside him at the sight. It had been a while since they had last been together and this was the first time he felt something else stirring inside besides his stomach and his emotions. He stepped closer, swallowing audibly.

Thorin turned around and something about him shifted – maybe it was the way his lips parted slightly or his fingers clenched the torch he was holding just a little more tightly, but Dwalin felt like there was suddenly a storm brewing between them that had nothing to do with anger.

“You know…” Dwalin licked his lips and took a step closer, lifting his hand to let it rest lightly on Thorin’s lower back. “I’ve always wanted to fuck you on a pile of gold”

Thorin let out a rough rumble of a laugh before stepping aside to put the torch into one of the holders on a column next to them. Then he walked up close to Dwalin again, his eyes shining with a fever that was all too familiar to Dwalin – made all the more arousing since he knew he was the only one that ever got to see Thorin like this. Thorin reached out and pulled Dwalin towards him with a rough grip. Sometimes they were in need for gentle touches and soft words but not today, not now. Today what they needed was heat and pain and lust, made possible only by the absolute trust between them.

Dwalin growled as their lips smashed together, strongly enough to leave bruises. He would never tire of Thorin’s taste, of the metal and fierceness and the way that Thorin’s teeth would scrape his lips with just enough pressure to excite him more. There was a wordless sound from Thorin as he began nestling around at Dwalin’s belt, clearly eager to get at what was lying underneath the leather and fabric. Dwalin laughed breathlessly, his fingers carding through Thorin’s hair and grabbing his neck, fingernails digging into Thorin’s soft skin and causing his One’s body to arch against his.

“ _Yes,_ ” Thorin whispered, stretching closer to Dwalin and dropping his belt to the side after finally being able to open it. The suspenders were pulled down quickly and Dwalin hissed and stretched against him, his teeth now digging into Thorin’s earlobes. Thorin moaned and one of his arms snaked around Dwalin’s waist, fingernails leaving reddening trails in their wake as they scratched over Dwalin’s bare back underneath his shirt.

“You’re still wearing far too many clothes,” Dwalin murmured, observing with pleasure how his hot breath made Thorin shiver. Thorin chuckled and drew in a sharp breath when Dwalin’s hands set to work on pulling the rough fabric of his tunic and shirt away, followed quickly by his belt. Dwalin’s hands worshiped his body, the hard muscles moving underneath the skin as well as the coarse hair and the thick scars spread over Thorin’s torso. He loved this landscape of his One, loved every single part of it, the good and the bad, because they told the stories of their time together and was proof of all they had gone through. Their minds might grow old and feeble one day, but at least their bodies would always remember.  

Thorin was pushing Dwalin’s shirt up as well, drawing it over his head and discarding it on the gold around him. He bent forwards and let his teeth scrape across Dwalin’s throat, applying just enough pressure right above the jugular to make Dwalin gasp. His hand closed around Dwalin’s cock in the same movement, making the tendrils of heat inside him explode into maelstroms. Dwalin sucked in air, his own hands clenching around Thorin’s shoulders and pulling him close, etching him on, although Thorin’s hand movements remained maddeningly slow.

“Thorin.” His name was a plea and a shout, an order and a whimper at the same time. Thorin pushed him until he stumbled backwards a few steps and his back collided with a stonen column, the gold coins underneath their boots clinking. Dwalin’s fingers clenched in Thorin’s hair and began pulling at it, but still the speed of Thorin’s fingers didn’t increase. Instead he dug his fingernails into the soft skin just at the base of Dwalin’s cock until Dwailn let out a wordless roar. They never begged, but Dwalin was as close to it as he had ever been. He closed his eyes and moaned again as Thorin picked up the pace, the feeling in his legs slowly vanishing.

Thorin said something as he kissed Dwalin’s chest but all Dwalin could do was to groan in reply and dig his own fingernails even deeper into the skin over Thorin’s shoulder blades, gasping wordless nothings into the air as his body shuddered. There was nobody but Thorin who could ever willingly make him lose control like this. The stone behind him scratched his bare back, even more so when Thorin finally began to increase the speed and bend down to caress Dwalin with his tongue. Dwalin’s hands moved up towards Thorin’s neck and then head, his fingernails scratching Thorin’s scalp and egging him on. Just before he could reach his height, however, Thorin pulled back with a smirk, running his fingernails up and down Dwalin’s cock again.

“You fucking bastard,” Dwalin growled and Thorin laughed, a deep and dangerous laugh as he finally brought him to completion. They both slumped down at the bottom of the column as Dwalin spilled, the cold of the gold and trinkets on their bare skin making them hiss. Dwalin pulled Thorin close, burying his nose in Thorin’s hair and breathing in the deep, earthy and metal smell that was his. It wasn’t long until Dwalin’s hands began wandering again, following the trails his fingernails had made on Thorin’s skin, first gently and peppering his skin with kisses as he did, then more forcefully, stopping in all the spots that he knew Thorin was most sensitive at.

Thorin threw his head back, his hair spread across the golden glint of the mountain’s riches and when Dwalin looked at him he thought he had never seen a more beautiful sight. Thorin’s eyes were dark and his teeth half bared and there was no resisting the urge to kiss those swollen lips again and again until they had no more energy left. He mirrored his partner’s earlier movements, caressing and worshipping Thorin’s body with his fingers and tongue until Thorin was the one who was breathing heavily, his back arching over the gold as Dwalin’s fingers touched his most sensitive spots between the legs. Dwalin regretted it that neither of them had thought of bringing any oil; he longed to feel Thorin inside him, to join themselves together fully as they did so often. But trying to do so now would hurt them both and it was not the kind of pain they were seeking now.

Therefore he let his tongue and fingers do the work, stroking the soft flesh between Thorin’s thighs and teasing where he could, drawing it out like Thorin had done just moments ago. His tongue slid between the cheeks of Thorin’s ass and Dwalin could sense Thorin’s fingernails digging into his scalp just as his had done into Thorin’s before. He could feel Thorin moving beneath him, muscles tightening and stretching, a perfect symphony of flesh, all under his control. It was the greatest gift that Thorin had to give, that full trust of hi,s and it was not given lightly or easily or, indeed, often.

“ _Yes_. Dwalin, _DWALIN_ -“ Thorin’s voice was deep and rough, barely more than a scrape on the gold around them and yet it was all that Dwalin needed to spurn him on more, give his lover what he craved. Dwalin could feel the heat pool inside him again as well as their bodies rubbed together and he gave Thorin’s cock all the attention it deserved, both gentle and rough, just enough to drive his One to the edge but never taking him beyond, not yet.

Thorin’s fingers clenched harder, ripping at his hair, the movements of his body becoming more uncontrolled. It was only when a low moan seeped up from his throat that Dwalin finally obliged and granted him release. Thorin’s body arched off the gold once more and they both groaned simultaneously as he came, the sound underlined by the faint clinking of gold as some of the coins fell of Thorin’s back where they had stuck to his skin. _Almost like Smaug_ , a distant part of Dwalin’s mind thought before the situation consumed him again. Slowly, he crawled upwards next to Thorin, kissing a line up his stomach and just until they were lying next to each other. The gold was still cold in Dwalin’s back and now that the heat of the moment was slowly wearing off it was becoming uncomfortable. He took a few of the coins in hand and let them run through his fingers.

Thorin laughed, his breathing still slightly faster than before, and caught a few of the coins that had fallen from Dwalin’s fingers. He shifted slightly, making the treasure beneath him clink intentionally and bit his tongue when his hip hit something more solid to keep himself from cursing.

“As nice as it is to see you lying in a sea of gold…” Thorin mused, his gaze unabashedly travelling up and down Dwalin’s mostly naked body. “I think I prefer a bed. Or at least somewhere with a cloak underneath us. “

Dwalin snorted, but found himself inclined to agree when his elbow hit one particularly large goblet and he could barely repress a shout.

“I’m getting too old,” he sighed and Thorin looked him in the eyes and nodded, his expressions so serious that Dwalin cuffed him in the side. “He, you’re supposed to tell me that no, I’m still in my prime and not old yet. Heal that bruised pride of mine instead of just nodding along.”

“Pfffft.” Thorin’s snort was even louder than Dwalin’s had just been. “You can heal your own pride well enough, no need for me to do that.”

Dwalin’s only response was to punch him gently in the chest with an exaggerated slow motion that Thorin pretended had hit him terribly before they both laughed. Their laughter echoed through the hallways and Dwalin wondered how it would sound when dwarves would finally live here again. He inched closer to Thorin and kissed him once more and Thorin smiled. Yes. Dwalin could not wait to see what the future would hold in store for them in Erebor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND THEN THEY LIVED HAPPILY EVERAFTER RIGHT? RIIIIGHT?!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surpriiiiiise, a tiny bonus thing that I had planned but sadly didn't quite managed to finish in time. Based on a tumblr post showing a mounring bracelet made from the deceased's hair that Laura linked me. Post-BOFA.
> 
> Warnings for grief and angst and sad and UGH.

 

He does not speak. He does not think.

The strands of hair are lying in front of him, dark brown and silver, looking somehow more alive than they have any right to be. He knows, if he touches them and closes his eyes he will feel as if the one they belong to is still alive under his hands. If he brings them up to his nose he will still be able to smell his One, faint but there even underneath all the blood. It is as if nothing but a heartbeat is separating him from Thorin at those moments – and yet those heartbeats are even further away than the horizon.

It takes him hours to finally touch the hair. It should have been his own hands that cut the strands off Thorin’s head, in the back where they loss would not be visible. It should have been his hands to wash them and comb them, dry them carefully and then bind them into the traditional mourning bracelet, together with a few strands of his own hair if he so wished.

He had been too much of a coward to do any of it. His hands shaking, he had stood in front of Thorin’s corpse for a long time that was no more than hazy memory in his mind now. Others had taken over the ritual washing for him and dressing Thorin in the clothes that a king like him deserved, but this final task, just like the swapping of the ear cuffs, had been his to do. At some point he had become aware of his hands. They were shaking uncontrollably, the only part of his body that still moved. Lifting them to his left ear seemed to be an act of almost unbearable difficulty; and taking off the one ear clasp that Thorin had made for him so long ago required the strength of an army. But there was no army, only him and the chasm where his heart should have been. His feet seemed to be as heavy as sacks of grain as he finally moved towards his One.

Balin found him at the end, hands still shaking and shivers running up and done his spine as he was clenching the clasp so hard in one fist that all blood seemed to have fled from it. He had taken one look at Dwalin’s face and another at Thorin and had simply proceeded to grasp his brother’s hand gently uncurl his shaking fingers one by one. There was a low, wounded sound from Dwalin’s throat as Balin finally took the clasp from him, the first sound he had made since entering the chamber deep under the mountain. Balin had grasped his neck and pulled him close, said nothing as quiet sobs had racked Dwalin’s body, sobs with no tears, no shouts for the abyss inside him swallowed even that.

It had been Balin’s hands in the end who had removed the clasp from Thorin’s ear and put Dwalin’s, there and who had, with the gentlest movement, affixed Thorin’s cuff to Dwalin’s ear in turn. Balin, who had taken the holy knife with the mithril blade, passed down from days of old since Durin I, and sheared off a few strands of hair from Thorin’s head, winding them into a roll and pressing them softly into his brother’s hands.

And all Dwalin had been able to do was to watch.

He hated himself for it.

Now he is sitting in his room, hair and string and metal in front of him that are supposed to be joined into an item for him to wear and he cannot not do it. He knows that it is custom, that it has to be done, but he feels the same numbness that overcame him in the chamber. He closes his eyes and there it is again - Thorin’s smell, so faint but yet there, the memory of a touch on his shoulder and a quiet laugh in his ear. He remembers the way Thorin used to hum under his breath at times when he was leaning over to see what Dwalin was doing and for a moment he can feel Thorin’s fingers on his own.

He opens his eyes and Thorin isn’t there, however. A faint flicker inside Dwalin had hoped that Thorin had finally used the hour granted by the Maker to all dwarves gone before their time to visit their loved ones, but something inside him knows that Thorin will not come. Not now, not today, probably not even tomorrow. It seems that all he has left is his dreams and the everlasting ghost of memories.

His fingers are trembling again as he begins to divide up the strands of hair – dusty brown streaked with silver, every single one of them cutting into his flesh worse than knives. Four strands that he binds together and then braids, a motion so achingly familiar that he feels he cannot breathe. Thorin had loved few things more than Dwalin’s hands in his hair and more often than not it had been him who had done Thorin’s braids in the morning. Dwalin intertwines the finished braid with strands of black wire and a few of silver, fastening them with a mourner’s clasp – this one carefully engraved with the raven of Durin and the sigil of the mountain. He feels as if he has woven a piece of Thorin’s life itself into the bracelet. It should make it lighter and easier to bear, but when he puts it on it feels as heavy as if the mountain was resting on it.

Dwalin presses it against his chest and does not move, feeling his breath gasp inside him like a wounded animal looking for escape, although there is none. One half of him is gone and he does not know how to fill the void that has been left behind.

Finally, he cries.


End file.
